


Season 1 Episode 4 - Oeuf

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Episode Related, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychotropic Drugs, Psylocybin tea, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season 1, shrooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: Will is distraught as usual, goes to Hannibal’s late at night. Drinks too much of the same mushroom tea Abigail had at dinner. Finds out Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. NON-CON sexual shenanigans ensue.





	Season 1 Episode 4 - Oeuf

**Author's Note:**

> TW: NONCON/RAPE.  
> I wanted to try writing something darker, so here we are. I’m still shit at writing. But you are warned. The non-con tag is because of sex while being drugged (and as a way to gain leverage to save your life). There’s no gore. (I can’t write violent gore or cruelty yet. But I’ll get there.)
> 
> Medical part is mostly bullshit, of course.
> 
> I couldn’t find a way to move the story forward until I turned mental the poor third person narrator. Sorry.
> 
> Part of my project Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.
> 
> Am shite at tagging, please help. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are all very welcome. 🖤

It’s too late at night for an unannounced visit. Unless you’re rude, then you just don’t care - and someone should teach you a lesson.

Will Graham, on the steps of Hannibal Lecter’s house, doesn’t intend to be rude in this specific situation (though we all know by now what a rude little shit he can be) but he’s upset and confused, and truly doesn’t realize how late it is. He’s sleep deprived, dealing with a persistent headache, just landed from a long flight after a long day on a gruesome crime scene. Families. Children. Blood. Violence. Children killed and children doing the killing. And he had to be there, in their minds, in their lives, at the monstrous end of it all. There was also lukewarm coffee. It’s December, for fuck’s sake: either coffee is scalding, or it’s a criminal justice offense.

Will rings nervously a couple of times before Hannibal manages to open the door. Then he rushes in, bracing himself, shivering, head hanging low. He seems to realize where he is only once he steps inside.

“Hannibal, it’s so late, I’m sorry. I just landed, I think, I don’t even know how I got here… nor why…” He’s restless and his voice is trembling. Poor bewildered Will, the horrible Doctor Lecter thinks, let’s see what fun game we end up playing tonight.

“My home is always open to friends, you know it. I’m glad to have your company. Tell me, what happened? You look frazzled.” Hannibal’s tone is calm and reassuring. His therapy voice, Will notices - such considered friend, he also likes my booty, not bragging, it’s a fact.

Hannibal guides Will to the kitchen, with a warm hand on the small of his back. Will takes obediently one of the stools, while Hannibal gets back to tidying up the kitchen - he’s had guests for some pretentious ass dining, for sure. The silence endures.

“Will, talk to me. What happened today?” Hannibal smiles at Will, patiently, as he always does. Will is so interesting to him that Hannibal bears heroically the cross of his lack of manners and frightful taste in second hand clothing.

Will seems startled by the sound of Hannibal’s voice. “Oh, the crime scene. I was at a new crime scene. The killer was one of the children of the couple… he killed mercilessly parents and siblings. Now that I say it, it seems almost trivial… ”

“Anyone would be horrified by a crime like this. I cannot even imagine how it must feel to you, with your ability to be inside their head. Not just seeing but feeling. Not just imagining, but being.”

“Maybe I need to not talk about it. Maybe I need distractions…” Will looks up at Hannibal, standing in front of him, his white shirt rolled over his veiny forearms. This clearly amounts to flirting, Will, has anyone ever told you?

“I found your phone calls only once I landed. What was that about, Hannibal?”

“I hoped you could be my guest for dinner. I checked Abigail out of the hospital, she was here, too.” Is there any need to tell him about the spat with Alana? No, not really. He has seen dead people already today, that’s enough.

“Oh, Abigail” Will’s features soften at the mention of the young woman’s name. “Tell me about this dinner then, sounds like the place I should have been…” That depends, though: if there was aspic, dead people is much, much better.

“We missed you, Will. Abigail and I.” Hannibal speaks in a soft voice, looking pointedly at Will. Subtle.

“I… I wish I could have been here. With both of you.” Abigail, the young woman he saved, ending her family. And Hannibal, his only friend, the one keeping him afloat in a world that goes darker and darker by the minute. Friend in between air quotes, okay.

Hannibal smiles. “It wasn’t a rebuke, Will. I understand you simply couldn’t.” He continues. “Abigail consented to try some unconventional therapy, under my supervision.”

Will frowns and scrolls his head. “What do you mean, unconventional?”

Hannibal points at a crystal teapot on the counter, the only thing remaining on the clean surface. It contains a golden liquid, and some solid residue. “Psylocybin tea. Mushroom tea, as it’s most commonly known. It contains a hallucinogenic compound, it’s been used with various degree of success in psychotherapy sessions. It may help in shifting and altering emotions connected to traumatic experiences in a permanent manner.”

“Did it work with Abigail?” Will looks doubtful.

Hannibal takes a clean teacup, and fills it to the brim with the liquid. ”Once is not enough, probably. But I noticed positive signs in Abigail’s demeanor. I think it will help, in time. Our girl is strong and brave, and wants to live fully.”

Our girl. Subtle, again, Will notices in silence. Of course, Hannibal is a drama queen, it took Will five seconds at their first meeting to ascertain that. Also, Hannibal always looks for reasons to get closer to Will, and Will pretends not to notice - too scared, too damaged to even consider what that closeness might mean. The fact that Will really, really likes Hannibal too only makes things worse. Really guys, you are both supposed to be adults, though. Like, old as shit, I mean, look at the pretentious one.

Without a word, Hannibal puts down the teacup in front of the younger man. He stands there, looking at Will, closer, a soft smile on his face. This is - usually - not good news.

“Do you think it would work for me, too? Or will I say just weird things I’ll regret later?” Will asks, wetting his lips. He’s so, so tired. If only he could have a good sleep. A quiet, undisturbed sleep, without Hobbs or the dark giant stag. He’s doubtful about the mushrooms tea, but also ready to try anything. Maybe mushroom tea might do something for the night sweats, too? Mattress is going moldy.

“Psylocybin does not change who you are, it only helps reveal a version of yourself that is already there, truthful and real. You need to have this experience with people you can trust. I could help you with a visualization, we could go through it together, and…” People you can trust = Hannibal. Ah, hilarious!

Hannibal cannot even finish his sentence, Will takes the teacup, and drinks all the content in a few gulps. The guy is so cute, you cannot expect smarts, too, okay? The taste is bitter and revolting, but he doesn’t stop until the teacup is empty. He puts it down with a grimace. What a good boy. Hannibal looks at him with murderous interest: the dose that Will has ingested is way over what would be recommended. How is Will going to react to it? Only one way to know it…

“Will, follow me to the studio, we’ll sit by the fire and relax. Let’s see what your mind conjures up.” But if you start blabbing again about dogs and boat motors, I swear I’ll scream, Hannibal thinks.

Hannibal leads, Will follows, already insecure on his legs. As he goes, he touches the walls with his fingertips, as tracing his path, the textures under his fingers attracting his full attention. Everything swirls, and wiggles, and vibrates. Will feels his own body become lighter and lighter, and his thoughts seem to follow. Hannibal sees his confusion and holds out a hand to him. Will takes it with slow carefulness, as if that were the first human hand he has ever seen outside of a morgue. The contact of skin on skin gives him a new pleasure that spans multiple senses. The world is spinning around him, everything is melting and mutating. Sounds create colors, shapes turn into liquid forms, everything is floating. It’s all clearly a Dalì painting, whoa.

Hannibal guides Will to the imposing brown Chesterfield sofa (so hard and uncomfortable) in the living room, in front of the blazing fireplace - the only source of light of the room. The flames are cracking, the light dances on the walls. Will is enchanted by his newly found perceptions (he’s out of it already).

“Will, concentrate on the fire. A powerful catalyst. Follow the natural rhythm of the flames.” Let’s hope for some fun times, Hannibal thinks, dinner with those two females was so boring.

Will is still holding Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal looks at him and cracks a smile.

“Will, I’m not going to leave you alone, do you intend to give me back my hand anytime soon?”

Hannibal doesn’t really mind, he’s in fact enjoying this unusual long contact with Will. There’s the possibility that Will is not able to speak - one of the side effects of the drug - which would be a pity. Will seems a bit lost in his thoughts but not in great distress.

“Will, do you hear me? Can you speak to me? Do you recognize me?”

“Yes… Hannibal, I can. It’s… all looks so different… feels so different…” Will’s answer is no more than a whisper.

“Can you describe what is happening? What do you see? If you tell me, I can help you navigate the experience.”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs and the dark creature are here. One on each side of the fireplace, hiding in the dancing shadows.” Big guns out already, really no sense of build up, uh?

“Are you afraid of them, Will? Are they threatening you?” Well, better than dogs and motor boats.

“They are happy, I have never seen them happy before… they know they are home. Safe. They tell me there’s nothing I should fear, either. Because I’m one of them. Of us.” Will speaks calmly, with childish delight.

“Well, it’s a positive message, Will. Your subconscious is rebuilding your relationship with guilt and fear. They are transforming in something that doesn’t put your sanity in danger. Go on, talk to them.”

Will’s eyes are unfocused, searching for something in the dark shadows of the room. He smiles, grabbing Hannibal’s hand again with both of his hands, pulling it in his lap. He turns toward Hannibal. Hannibal’s smiling too, quite intrigued by this unusual softness in Will’s demeanor.

“They say they are home. Home, don’t you understand?”

“What does it mean, Will? What are they trying to tell you?”

“That you are the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal.” Shit. Shit shitshitshit shit. Oh. Shit.

Will speaks without any particular emphasis, a smile still dancing on his lips. He raises one hand and caresses Hannibal’s face with the back of it.

“They’re right, you are the Chesapeake Ripper. Aren’t you? I can see it, you know. Everything fits now. You don’t need to lie. Not to me.”

Will’s tone is even, serene. There’s no connection right now between what he knows intellectually and the appropriate emotional response, Hannibal takes note of it.

“Do you believe that, Will? That I’m the Chesapeake Ripper?” In spite of the worry in his eyes, Hannibal cups Will’s face in his hand. The beautiful face of the man that just found out who he truly is. Too soon, too soon. Not enough time to attune Will into his true potential, into what he’s meant to be. Hannibal feels regretful and betrayed - by his own trick, nonetheless. Well done, smartass.

“I don’t need to believe, Hannibal. I know it. It is how it is.”

Hannibal’s voice is steady and calm, but his stare is unflinching. “What are you going to do with this information, Will?”

Really, this, of all the things? Hannibal is mad with himself. He never suspected Will could be so close to finding out about him, already.

“Justice will be served, Hannibal.” Will traces the lines of Hannibal’s mouth with one finger. “Of course this is what should happen. But it won’t, because I won’t be alive long enough to tell, right?” There’s wistfulness in his voice. Hannibal is fascinated by the emotions that Wills associates with this lethal breakthrough.

“How will you kill me, Hannibal? Please don’t turn me into nouvelle cuisine, keep me humble…” Will sounds resigned. His eyes cannot stay away from Hannibal’s face, dancing on it with curiosity and fascination, but no trace of fear.

After a long, pensive pause, Hannibal breaks eye contact and speaks. “I imagine you cannot walk too well, Will. Don’t try anything stupid, I don’t intend to harm you. Don’t panic, I won’t be long.” Who would ever panic in this situation? Who?

Hannibal moves quickly, his long murderous legs devouring the steps to the upper floor two at the time.

Will, alone now, starts laughing. It’s a low, forced laughter. He just cannot stops. Tears are rolling from his eyes. He cannot feel anything in an appropriate way, but he knows this is the end of his life. He will not hide Hannibal Lecter from the law, he doesn’t want to, so Hannibal will kill him. How? Will there be torture? Suffering? Indignity? All this time searching for the killer, and he was there… so close. A friend. Almost something more. At least no one will ever find out how easily he had been played. Will keeps laughing, waiting to die.

Hannibal is back, a tall glass of liquor in one hand, two gray round tablets in the other. He sits by Will’s side.

“Will, this is your chance to survive. Swallow.” Not even please? Rude.

Hannibal pushes the tablets deep inside Will’s throat with his fingers, grabs his hair to recline his head backwards and pours the liquor down his throat in haste. Will tries to comply but coughs up part of the liquid.

“What is your design to save me from yourself, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s jaw is tense, his eyes flickering on Will’s face. “That was Fentanyl: with alcohol, on top of Psylocybin, it’s the most likely combination for amnesia. Tomorrow you’ll wake up on this couch with a terrible headache, I will remind you how you got too drunk to drive. You’ll feel awful for a while, with no memories of tonight. Alive and safe.” Maybe. For now. Don’t count too much on it.

“Why, Hannibal? Why don’t you just snap my neck? You understand that if it’s not now, it will be soon… I’ll see who you are, one day, and it may be a much less favorable situation for you.” This man has clearly a death wish.

Hannibal just stares, in silence.

“Oh my, I see, you have different plans for me. This is not your design. Maybe dying now would be the easy way out for me.”

Hannibal produces only more silence.

Will moves slowly, makes himself more comfortable in a corner of the sofa. Then leans forward and takes Hannibal’s hand again, caresses it, tracing the shape of the soft palms, the long fingers. Both men feel a bit too warm, skins overheated, be it the fire in front of them or the danger of this reckoning.

“Well, you have such beautiful hands, Hannibal. Big, strong, but also deft and delicate. I noticed them right away, I’ve always liked them.” Uh?

Will brings the man’s hand to his lips, closes his eyes and kisses tenderly its palm. “Always wondered how they would feel on me.” Ah!

“Weird choice of moment to declare your attraction, Will. Is this going somewhere? I think you have no more than half an hour of consciousness in you, all considered.”

Will moves Hannibal’s hand from his mouth to the side of his face then pushes it to the nape of his own neck, in a long caress. He grabs Hannibal by the back of his head, leans in and goes for a kiss. He brushes his lips delicately at first on Hannibal’s. Then starts nipping with his teeth at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth, before using his tongue to swipe slowly over his lips. Hannibal is so surprised that doesn’t respond immediately to the kiss. But Will insists in this slow attack to his mouth, so he gives in. He starts answering in kind to the tender kiss that Will has initiated. Will punctuates the pleasure he’s deriving from the kiss with an abundance of soft hums and sighs, shameless sounds that make Hannibal grow quickly hungry for more. Hannibal pulls Will closer by his waist, but breaks away from the kiss, causing a disgruntled sound to roll over from Will’s throat.

“Will, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Now.”

“Opioids and alcohol are a good mix for amnesia, but we could improve the chances by adding trauma. Now, in my drugged up state, nothing seems capable to cause me real distress, so I propose we head the other direction to get an heightened emotional and hormonal response…” Will’s voice trails off, while his eyes wander from Hannibal’s eyes to his mouth, and back. But Hannibal doesn’t seem to get the hint. Two adults, as noted before, and they just can’t.

“Fuck me, Hannibal! Will you please manage to fuck me before I’m unconscious?” Will is amused by the different emotions crashing on the man’s face at his request. He openly giggles. For once, the pretentious asshole is speechless.

“It can work, Hannibal. My first choice would be not to die, honestly. And if I have to, at least let me go well fucked. Coming before going, as they say. So this is the perfect arrangement. Also, you’ve been ogling my booty shamelessly since day one, don’t bullshit me.”

Will reclines against the sofa’s armrest, pushes his hips forward in Hannibal’s direction, open his thighs a bit. He’s still holding Hannibal’s hand: he places it on his crotch, rolls his hips against it a couple of times, moaning, so that Hannibal can appreciate his hard cock underneath. If Will too goes for not-subtle, maybe things will move along. Let’s just hope.

“There is no better time, Hannibal. Everything feels wonderful to me now: every touch reverberates through me like ray of lights through the foliage of a forest. I’ve never felt this relaxed and free, it’s like I’m floating on clouds. My ability for loathing is stunted. So. Please. Fuck me.” Will underlines the concept by dry-humping against Hannibal’s hand again, wildly whimpering and reclining his head back, offering his neck and throat in a display of pleasure and submission.

Hannibal bites his bottom lip. “You’re under the influence.”

“Yep, and trying to save my own life. For fuck’s sake, you’re a fucking cannibal! Not the best time to suddenly grow morals and a distaste for rape, Hannibal.”

The two men look at each other for a little while, Hannibal’s hand still pressed on Will’s crotch. Then Hannibal stands up and exits the room.

Will makes a long, disgruntled sound, and crashes on the armrest, one arm covering his eyes. There’s nothing to do but wait. Wait until tomorrow, and either I don’t remember shit and I live, or Hannibal sees it in my eyes - and no doubt whatsoever if I do remember he’ll know right away - and I’m a dead man - Will thinks. Not only a dead man but also some kind of pretentious ass dish, most likely. What a sad end for a simple boy from Louisiana. Not aspic, my Lord. Please, never aspic.

Next thing Will feels is being lifted into Hannibal’s arms and moved gently. He opens his eyes: he’s been laid on the ground, closer to the fireplace, on a thick furry white blanket, among pillows of different sizes - all things that were not there before. Courtesy of Lecter’s Magic. He sighs with relief: his brilliant, horny idea is a go. Hannibal straddles him and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Will, we don’t have a lot of time for niceties. Forgive my directness. Have you ever been the passive recipient of anal sex?”

“Nope!” Will responds enthusiastically, elongating excessively the “o” and ending the word with a resonant popping sound. “I would help with the undressing but I‘m afraid my fine motor skills are gone to hell already, so…” He makes a vague flamboyant gesture, giggles and rises on his elbows to reach Hannibal’s mouth. He gets back to kissing him sloppily and noisily.

“Don’t fret, I will take care of everything, Will,” Hannibal whispers into Will’s mouth.

“Oh, easy then, I’m not physically capable of worrying right now. Nor of doing much, sorry, I guess I’ll play the starfish tonight.” Will speaks among kisses.

Hannibal undresses Will first, piece by piece, with patience and tenderness, in admiring silence. He knows what to expect in general, he has seen Will in those heart-rending pajamas that don’t hide much, but this sudden availability under his hands is testing him. Will’s lean muscular body, his pale skin, his well proportioned silky cock (already hard, already leaking - you little cock tease, you!): Hannibal is savoring and committing everything to memory.

The younger man is hungry for contact, shivers with loud pleasure at every caress or kiss that Hannibal liberally bestows on him. When his mouth isn’t busy against Hannibal’s mouth or any other area of his skin within reach, Will is unbearably chatty. Hannibal’s removal of the dress shirt is welcomed with such an intolerable storm of curses and giggles and hyperbole, that Hannibal manages to keep Will’s mouth captive against his own as distraction for the rest of the disrobing and possibly ever (Will is OneOfUs.gif).

Hannibal has soon both of them naked, laying on the pillows, kissing and grinding against each other. He has Will put a thigh over his waist, while he lubes up the fingers of one hand.

“Will, now relax, I need to open you up. If you feel excessive pain, tell me and I’ll slow down. Do you understand?”

“I’ve never ever been more fucking relaxed in my fucking life, I’m telling you. Hurry up.” Impatient twitchy little man.

Hannibal starts circling Will’s hole with the tip of a well lubricated finger and Will jolts in his arms. Hannibal holds him tight against his chest, reading the multitude of mewling sounds Will is producing as pleasure. He whispers soothing words into Will’s hear (like “Calm the fuck down, will you?” but in Lithuanian), strokes his hair, then slowly increases the pressure. He keeps the movements slow and predictable, so that Will has time to adapt to it, or stop him. When he breaches inside for the first time, Will freezes. Hannibal keeps the rotating movement with no added depth. But then Will rolls his hips toward the hand, letting it in easily much deeper, hence in the opposite direction, against Hannibal’s belly, smashing their straining, leaking cocks against each other. Hannibal tries to slow him down, but Will is moving forcefully in uptempo and to Hannibal this feels like trying to block a huge squishy fish from flailing using only tweezers.

“Will! I’m trying to make it pleasant and easier for you. Behave yourself.” Hannibal reproaches Will, with very little hope to be successful.

“Hannibal, lights are fading, I don’t know how much time I have before I black out… hurry the fuck up, you murderous stickler!” Will’s speech is slightly slurred, his eyelids are heavy.

Hannibal sighs and pushes himself on top of Will, hoping to control this petty bitch more easily. Hannibal’s fingers, now two, stroke a path of pleasure inside Will’s body, with slow, gentle movements, getting deeper and deeper. Will is receptive, sensitive, pliable; his body seems attuned only to enjoyment, gives way so easily to Hannibal’s invasion. Will never pulls back. He sighs, moans, asks for more with hungry kisses in Hannibal’s mouth and trying to fuck himself ruthlessly on Hannibal’s fingers. This little slut wasn’t even giving the time of day to the poor middle aged cannibal, and look at him now, unfuckinbelievable.

Beneath his usual self control, Hannibal is truly affected by this version of Will, so available, demanding, forward. He takes in every sight and sound and smell and feeling, ready to replay it in detail in the sex dungeons of his Memory Palace (creepy!), especially during the most boring therapy sessions with people of the female variety or when Jack Crawford asks him if the Chesapeake Ripper wears boxers or briefs. He has been thinking about Will with interest for a while, but nothing could have prepared him to the intensity, the overwhelming beauty of it all. The face of Will lost in delight, lips parted, eyes closed, throat exposed, so trusting, enjoying physical pleasure with wild abandon (Jesus, if only he could shut up). His pale defenseless body so open, without shame nor fear nor apparent limits, writhing, asking for more, and again and again.

“Am I doing fine enough, Doctor Lecter?” Will asks breathless between kisses, fingers hooked in Hannibal’s heavily conditioned hair.

“You are unruly, rambunctious and disruptive, as expected. Still, complaining on my part would make me sound like an ungrateful whiny bitch, so I’ll try and restrain myself.“ Also, the first time I saw the nape of your neck I maturely decided you’re my soulmate and, in case you haven’t noticed yet, you belong with me, Will, and me alone - this thought flashes in fuchsia all caps Comic Sans through Hannibal’s mind. How can Hannibal allow someone else to have this? Common people don’t deserve nor understand real beauty and his dog-fur-covered Will is truly beautiful, both in his devious mind and his taut extremely fuckable body.

Hannibal rolls Will on the side in little spoon position and with a few strokes he lubes up his considerable murderous cock. As soon as he rests the head of the aforementioned generously sized organ against Will’s pouty hole - with the intention of easing it in, employing a reasonable amount of patience and finesse - unreasonably horny Will Graham impales himself on it forcefully and completely, to the hilt. There’s a moment of stunned silence during which Hannibal thinks “Mon Dieu, nice move but imagine when I try to explain to the FBI that this is truly an undisputed case of suicide,” then Will emits a long, pleading, pitiful whine. Reassured that he’s not yet engaging in necrophilia (it looks real bad in your criminal resume), Hannibal kisses tenderly a shoulder of his pretty fool and starts fucking Will rather gently, with slow and controlled rocking movements of his hips.

“What a very good boy - though a bit reckless” Hannibal offers, his lips brushing Will’s ear, while he holds him with a hand over his heart and the other on a delectable hip bone (so useful in preparing broth!), “you are warm like melted German butter, soft like expensive Italian silk,” he adds, plowing him relentlessly, his slick cock sliding in and out of Will’s tender warm hole with virtually no resistance.

A shudder runs through Will’s ravished body, echoing pleasantly in Hannibal’s cock, who in turn pushes his thrusts a little bit deeper. Will whines and whimpers miserably following Hannibal’s rhythm, and with a trembling hand grabs one of Hannibal’s ass cheek. And, of course, uses the purchase to pull Hannibal deeper inside himself.

“Will, I truly recommend you a life less deprived of any sexual satisfaction, for you own sake.” Hannibal points out fastidiously, his forehead covered by a sheen of sweat.

“So that I don’t put too much pressure on middle aged men to perform?” Will sasses back.

Hannibal makes the most soulful sigh, remembering with fondness the few fleeting moments when he could enjoy Will’s plump ass in perfect silence, then he starts pumping into Will harder and faster, plunging his fat cock inside him in his full length, so that every violent thrust elicits a little scream from Will.

Hannibal moves his hand from the hip to Will’s lower belly, where he can appreciate how his pubic hair is a sticky wet mess of pre-come, keeps moving it a little lower until he can wrap his deft fingers around the shaft of Will’s luscious, hard, dripping cock - the action is welcomed by the cock owner with a throaty screeching sounding a lot like OHFUCKFINALLYFUCKYESFUCKOHFUCKFUCK. Hannibal bites and sucks gently Will’s nape (dreaming about cutting his head off entirely and using it as a nice Christmas centerpiece) while his hand follows the rhythm of his thrusts, with a subtle twist of his wrist and the occasional thumb over his slit.

Soon, all of a sudden Will gives in to a blinding orgasm, pleading Hannibal’s name, back arching as in an exorcism, every muscle in his body spasming and clenching in a shattering wave of pleasure. Once Hannibal has milked Will’s cock to the last drop with his unrelenting hand, he lets himself join in the pleasure, finally filling up Will’s ruined ass with his come after a few more deep, violent thrusts.

Hannibal lazily clean his hand covered in Will’s come, licking and sucking away every drop with delight, then extricate himself out of Will, rolls him on his back and straddle him.

“Will, are you alright?” Hannibal asks, cupping the face of the younger man in his hands, one thumb stroking his cheek, trying to read his expression.

Will looks ruined and spent (and finally satisfied, honestly)- eyes unfocused, wet lips parted, body boneless - still he gives Hannibal a little nod.

“Well, obviously this is just the beginning, so many things I plan to do to your defenseless, pliable body…” Hannibal adds. A flash of horror crosses Will’s face, but a few moments after he’s clearly entirely out, courtesy of the Fentanyl.

“I was just kidding, Will, but you asked for things to give you an emotional response, so…”

Hannibal grins, stretches a little, then resumes his position as big spoon, taking back Will in his arms. There are many things to do before he wakes up - some will be particularly fun, like cleaning him up (mostly by licking) - but there’s time. With his nose buried in Will’s hair, surrounded by the smell of sex, between the warmth of the fireplace and Will’s slumbering body, Hannibal relishes the sated silence.


End file.
